


betcha dinner it's a doozy

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Italian Racetrack Higgins, Polish David Jacobs, established Javid, pre Sprace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: In which David and Race more or less adopt some children.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins, implied Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber
Comments: 30
Kudos: 130





	betcha dinner it's a doozy

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a couple thosuand words of pure self-indulgence, just playing around with how canon era Davey, Jack, Race, and Spot might end up pseudo-parents to a couple of small children. This is actually the first spinoff idea I had for Near Miss, so it's been fun to play with it a little! It's tagged onto the series, because they're connected, but technically this is an AU of an AU. Just roll with it, this is purely for fun :)  
> Featuring multilingual Race, Davey, and kiddos, and Francesco Higgins-Conlon being a sassy little shit. Is Higgins-Conlon his name in this version of reality? Only in spirit. Does that matter to me right now? No. Is he still best friends with Leah Jacobs-Kelly? Yes, and that's what's important.

Race has a good relationship with Brooklyn. Manhattan doesn’t always, but Race, personally, does.

He has a particularly good relationship with Brooklyn’s leader, Spot Conlon, although how exactly he’s pulled that off is a mystery even to him. Still, he’s not going to complain. Nobody in Manhattan wants to play cards with him anymore, but the Brooklyn guys all still think they can give him a run for his money. Spot usually does, actually, give Race a run for his money.

Tonight, he’s won the better part of Race’s money.

“ _Does Spot know you complain about stupid pretty Irish boys behind his back?”_ a little voice asks innocently as Race is leaving.

Race whips around. He’d been grumbling to himself in Italian, like he always does when Spot wins. But none of Spot’s boys speak Italian, Race thought.

There’s a little boy standing on the stairs, a few feet away. He’s probably no more than seven or eight, with too big clothes hanging off his small frame. He’s blinking at Race with bright blue eyes through a cloud of white-blond curls. Race thought he knew all of the kids under Spot, at least by sight, but he’s never seen this kid in his life.

“Who are you?” he asks, in slightly stunned English. The boy blinks at him, cocking his head to one side. “Come on, kid, you’ve got to have enough English for that.”

The boy smiles, revealing a missing front tooth. “ _The big kids don’t know I speak any.”_

 _“Why?”_ Race asks, taking a small step forward. “ _It’s safer to play American, kid.”_

 _“I can’t,”_ the boy replies, wrinkling his nose. “ _I’m not good enough at English to pass. The big kids look out for me, and since they think I don’t understand they talk in front of me. I’m learning.”_

 _“Smart kid,”_ says Race. “ _What’s your name?”_

 _“Francesco,”_ the little boy answers. He frowns. “ _The big kids call me Franks.”_

Race laughs at the face the boy pulls at the nickname. _“Nice to meet you, Cesco. I’m Antonio, but the kids call me_ Racetrack _._ Race _, for short.”_

“Racetrack?” Francesco repeats. “ _That’s a dumb name.”_

 _“They’re all dumb names_ ,” says Race, shaking his head.

“Race?” Spot says, coming down the stairs. “I thought you left already.”

“Just got to talking with one of your littles,” Race says, nodding to Francesco.

Spot looks from Race to Francesco, startled. “I don’t think I’ve heard Franks say more than four words together.”

“He sassed me right outta the gate,” says Race, crossing his arms. “Maybe you ain’t sayin’ the right words to _him_.”

“ _You sound just like them,”_ Francesco says. “ _How do you do that?”_

Spot blinks at him.

“ _Lots of practice, little guy,”_ Race answers, trying to ignore Spot but feeling very self-conscious. It’s been a long time since he carried on a full conversation in his native language. “ _I can help you learn.”_

 _“I’d like that,”_ says Francesco.

“Can I borrow this child, Spotty?” Race asks. Francesco giggles.

“Why?” Spot asks, looking torn between suspicion and exasperation.

“Kid don’t speak no English, he needs a hand,” says Race, shrugging. “Your crew sure as hell ain’t gonna help him.”

“What, and you can?”

“Duh,” says Race. “Spot, I been comin’ round here a long time. I ain’t ever met another Italian kid in this building. Now, I’m gonna assume, ‘cause I like you and I don’t want that to change, that that’s a coincidence.” He nods toward Francesco again. “’Specially since you been lookin’ out for my pal Cesco, here, ain’cha?” He switches back to Italian, hoping Spot won’t catch his meaning as he asks, “ _They’ve been good to you, right? Nobody’s giving you trouble?”_

 _“They’ve been nice to me,”_ Francesco answers quickly. “ _They just don’t understand me.”_

“Hmm.” Spot frowns. “You wanna take him back with you?”

“I don’t wanna start shit, Spot, I just wanna help get his feet under him,” says Race. “He can stay one’a yours if it matters to ya.”

“Look out for ‘im, ‘kay, Racer?” Spot says. “I’m trustin’ you with one’a my boys here.” His brow furrows a little more. “ _You’re_ one’a mine. Take care.”

“I always do,” Race says, trying not to read to far into _you’re one of mine_. “Cesco?”

“Hm?”

“ _Do you want to come to Manhattan with me? I’ll look out for you,”_ Race offers. He knows the younger boy has been following the conversation, more or less, but it’s hard to judge exactly how much he’s understood.

“ _Yes_.” Francesco bounds down the stairs to Race’s side.

They bid Spot goodbye, and Francesco trails Race out of the building. “ _Stupid pretty Irish boys, eh?”_

“You’re too smart for your own good, kid,” says Race, ruffling his hair. “A’right, it’s a bit’uva walk from here. You ready?”

“Ready,” Francesco echoes. It’s the first English Race has heard from him.

“How much English you got, Cesco?” Race asks. “Be straight wi’me, no foolin’. I gotta know where we’re startin’.”

“It’s easier to listen than talk,” Francesco says, after mulling the question over for a moment. “ _I don’t sound American like you though.”_

“We’ll work on that, if you want,” says Race. He’s painfully aware that, right now, his carefully cultivated Manhattan accent is actually slipping quite a bit more than usual. The Italian is creeping back out. “ _How about this, little guy. For now, I’ll speak English, and you can answer however’s easier. If you need help you can ask.”_

 _“It’s worth trying_ ,” Francesco replies. He tugs Race’s sleeve. “ _Do I have to call you_ Racetrack?”

Race laughs. “Most people just say ‘Race,’ it’s easier.”

“You have a name,” says Francesco, frowning.

“We use the nicknames to protect ourselves,” says Race. “It’s safer if people don’t know who you are. ‘Specially when you’s foreign. Playin’ local keeps eyes off’a ya.”

“So I’m going to be Franks forever,” Francesco says, wrinkling his nose again.

“Dunno, my boys might shake it up. You could be Frankie,” says Race. The smaller boy makes another face. “Yeah, I know. How’s a deal – if you don’t fuss about being Frankie or Franks with the boys, _I’ll_ call you Cesco between the two of us.”

“ _Can I call you Antonio_?” asks Francesco.

Race freezes. Francesco actually keeps walking for a moment before realizing Race isn’t with him anymore. “ _Nobody’s actually called me that in a long time, little guy.”_

_“Maybe that means someone should.”_

_“Maybe.”_

Their conversation drifts more into linguistics and Race’s put-on accent, and honestly before Race knows it they’re standing outside the Manhattan Lodging House.

He brings Francesco into one of the common spaces, and is both shocked and perplexed when Jack Kelly greets him with, “God, Race, did you pick up a stray, too?”

\--

“Jack, I have someone who needs to stay with us for a while,” Davey says instead of a greeting.

“Hi Jack, how’s it going? Oh, I’m fine, Davey, how are you? I’m fine too, Jackie, I’ve got somethin’ to tell ya,” Jack says, playfully mocking him.

“ _Jack_ ,” Davey says, tone stern.

“What’s goin’ on, Dave?” asks Jack.

Davey steps aside, revealing the small form of a seven or eight-year-old girl. “This is Leah Nowak. She’s just been orphaned –“ he cuts off at a startled sob from the little girl. His attention immediately shifts completely away from Jack and onto her, dropping to one knee to look her in the eye. “Oh, Bee, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t – I just need to tell Jack what’s going on, okay?”

Leah nods, and when David straightens back up she tucks herself close to his side.

“Orphaned?” Jack repeats. She’s about the same age he was, and he remembers how fucking terrifying it was.

“She needs someplace to stay,” David says softly. “And we happen to have space in our apartment –“

“For the girls,” Jack points out. “The girls we’re marrying, remember?”

Davey scoops Leah up surprisingly easily, with one arm looped under hers and around her back. He whispers something to her in one of his other languages – Polish, if Jack had to guess based on the sound alone – and Leah blinks up at Jack with the saddest set of puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen. Jack looks from her face to Davey’s, which is set in that determined gaze Jack can’t turn down.

“Yeah, alright, she can stay with us.” Jack shakes his head. “You don’t have to try so hard, Davey, I’m a sucker for the littles.”

Leah let out a little cheer, before wiggling out of Davey’s arms.

“We’re gonna get her set up to sell papers,” Davey tells him, letting Leah hold onto his hand once she’s on the ground. “I know there ain’t as many girls on the job, but if she’s gonna be working I’ll feel better about her with our boys than in a factory.”

Jack nods. “You wanna come by the house with us, kid? We’ll getcha introduced to some’a the boys.”

Neither of the boys are newsies anymore – Jack with a more steady cartoonist job interspersed with commissioned set pieces for Medda and a handful of other theatre owners she’d introduced him to, Davey an elementary school teacher – but they make a point of stopping by to check in and visit with their friends whenever they’re able. Jack’s hoping to catch Race, who’s taken over as the informal leader of the Lower Manhattan newsies, and ask him to keep an eye on Davey’s new charge, but he isn’t there.

“S’poker night, dumbass,” Albert points out.

“Right, a’course,” replies Jack. He lets himself get caught up in a card game of his own, while Davey introduces Leah to Elmer and one of the other relatively new kids (a ten-year-old nicknamed Zip) and the four of them get into a conversation in enthusiastic and dizzyingly fast Polish.

Jack is just starting to think about collecting his little crew and heading out for the night when Race finally shows up, with his own new little shadow.

“God, Race, did you pick up a stray, too?” he calls.

Race looks understandably baffled. “Too?”

“Davey,” Jack says, and the taller boy looks up.

“Oh, Race is here,” Davey says. “Hi, Race.”

“Heya, Daves.”

“Leah – Lee, come back over here a minute,” Davey says, waving the little girl back over to him from where Zip was showing off his brand new hand-me-down slingshot. She’s at his side again almost instantly, which impresses Jack. But there’s something about Davey that makes him hard to ignore, especially when he puts on his no nonsense _listen to me_ voice. The one that makes the younger boys roll their eyes and call him Ma. “Leah, this is Race. He’s gonna look out for you.”

“I am,” says Race, his voice lifting into the barest hint of a question.

“Leah’s a new newsie, Racer,” Jack says. It should be fairly obvious but it’s sometimes hard to tell with Race. “Davey’s taken’er under his wing, ain’cha, Davey?”

Davey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, something like that. Who’s your shadow, Race?”

“This is my new pal Frankie,” Race says. The smaller boy, who looks to be of an age with Leah more or less, makes a face at him. “Yeah, _fratellino_ , I know. I’m borrowing him from Brooklyn.”

“Why?” Jack asks, suddenly suspicious. Spot Conlon is notoriously protective over his boys.

“S’complicated,” says Race. “I cleared it with Spot, Cowboy, don’t worry about it.”

Jack opens his mouth to respond, but Davey puts a hand on his arm. “Hey, we should be heading out.”

Jack nods, and they bid the boys goodbye. Davey walks close to Jack, close enough that their shoulders bump against each other every few steps, holding Leah’s hand on his other side. Leah is visibly tired, now that the high energy of the newsies is behind them. By the time they reach the boys’ apartment, Davey has scooped her up and is carrying her with practiced ease.

He settles her on their beat up sofa once they get inside, pulling a blanket over her. “Good night, kiddo.”

“Night, David,” Leah says, yawning. “G’night, Jack.”

“Night, Leah,” Jack replies. “I’ll walk you to work in the morning, okay?”

“Mmkay,” says Leah. She rolls over and seems to be asleep before the movement is even finished.

Davey tugs Jack into their bedroom – nominally Jack’s, although they’ve always shared it. “Thanks for letting her stay, Jack.”

“Don’t worry about it, Davey,” Jack says, waving him off. “I’ve been that kid; she’s lucky to have somebody who wants to look out for her like you do.”

“Nobody in the neighborhood could afford to take her in,” David tells him. He’s looking toward the door, and Jack’s sure he’s got an image of the scared kid sleeping on their couch burned into his eyes. Jack sure does. “She’s so young, Jackie. She needs somebody taking care of her.”

“That can be us,” says Jack. “Not just for the night or whatever your pitch was – clear it with the girls and shit, but, like. You’d be a great dad, Dave, and that kid – she needs somebody like you.”

Davey sits on the bed, kicking his shoes off. “For real?”

“Check with Kath and Sarah,” Jack repeats. “But if they’re down to take a kid in with us, then I am for sure. F’we can keep one kid off the streets that’s good, yeah?” He shrugs. “Hell, if she sticks with us she could even go back to school. Don’t need to work if you got people takin’ care’a ya, eh?”

Davey gives Jack a small, thoughtful smile. “Yeah, Jackie.”

\--

Race is early to distribution the next morning, with Francesco on his heels. He’s a little surprised that Jack is the one who walks Davey’s new shadow to work, but then it occurs to him that Jack still works for the World, and Davey’s school would’ve been in the wrong direction. The girl, who Race is almost a hundred percent certain is named Leah, is wearing the same clothes as yesterday, with her hair in two inexpertly done braids.

“Alright, Lee,” Jack says, his tone light, “Racer’s got’cha, okay?”

“Um, are you sure I’ll be okay?” Leah says quietly.

Jack ruffles her hair. It does no favors for the state of her braids. “You trust me an’ Davey, right, kiddo?”

“Um, yes,” says Leah.

“Well Davey an’ I trust Race with our lives,” says Jack. “He’ll look out for you.”

Leah looks from Jack to Race. “If you’re sure.”

“I got you, kid,” Race says. “Promise. We’ll even have fun; I got the two’a youse with me. Francesco, say hi.”

Francesco pokes his head around Race’s body. “Hi.”

“You two didn’t really getta meet last night,” says Race. “Frankie, Leah. Leah, Frankie. Three’a us’s gonna be a team for a little bit, okay? Till you’s got ya feet under you.”

Leah looks back up at Jack, rocking up on her toes to be a little closer. “Um, okay.”

“Um, okay?” says Jack. He ruffles her hair again. Leah nods. “A’right, kiddo. Give Race hell for us.”

Leah giggles.

“Excuse me, missy, do _not_ give Race hell, Race is doing you a favor,” Race says, crossing his arms.

“I’ll be good,” Leah says.

“Davey or I’ll come find’ja when it’s time to go home, ‘kay?” says Jack.

Leah nods. Race finds himself just watching the interaction, slightly stunned. Jack has always been good with the little kids, but there’s something really natural about how he’s handling this girl, almost parental. He wonders how long Leah’s going to stick with Jack and Davey. They’re due to get married soon, after all – Jack to Sarah Jacobs and Davey to Katherine Plumber. Will the girls want an 8-year-old orphan underfoot?

Somehow Race can’t see the boys just kicking her to the curb.

“Oh, wait, okay –“ Jack says, pulling something out of his pocket. It turns out it’s a beaten grey newsboy cap – unmistakably Jack’s. He sets it gently onto Leah’s head. “You gotta look the part.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Leah gives him a quick hug, and he leaves.

“Alright, kids,” Race says, putting his hands on his hips and trying to project a Davey Jacobs _all business_ attitude. “Now, we’s gonna work together. I’ll pay for papes, you two’s gonna sell, okay? You’s cute’n little, n’I can keep an eye from a li’l ways away and carry the stack for ya’s.”

The kids nod. Leah needs a little coaching on what to do and say, but she’s a natural once she gets the hang of it. Leah and Francesco also take to each other like a house to fire – conversation is a little stilted at first, since Francesco’s English is still very much a work in progress, but once they get going it’s all Race can do to _stop_ them talking. It’s a mix of English, Italian – through Race, when Cesco gets stuck – and Polish – which Race can’t help with – plus a lot of animated gesture and eyebrow conversation.

Both kids start the day quiet. Francesco, Race knows, is quiet largely because he’s listening. Leah seems a little jumpy and anxious, a little hesitant, but she comes out of her shell the longer she talks to Francesco.

By end of day, both are comfortable hawking headlines, but they’ve also got a pretty tidy little scheme worked out that let Francesco get away without talking and won them some sympathy, too.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, buy a paper?” she says, her arm wrapped tight around Francesco’s shoulders. He coughs pathetically, dropping his head onto her shoulder. They’re a sad, sad picture, and Race would almost buy it if he hadn’t watched the two of them set it up.

“Of course, dear,” the woman Leah had flagged down says, looking from one to the other of them. “Are you two alright?”

“Oh, we’re fine, ma’am,” Leah says, her little voice wavering. “My brother’s mighty sick, but this is our last paper. We should almost have enough to get him some medicine!”

“Oh, dear,” the woman says. She takes the paper Leah’s offering, and hands her what looks like a nickel. “Take this, sweetheart, keep the change. I hope it helps.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” Leah says, keeping up her sad sister bit until the woman’s fully out of eyeshot. Then the kids duck back into the alley where Race is waiting for them.

“That was our best yet!” Leah crows, punching the air. She flicks the coin to Race. “A whole nickel, did’ja see, Racer?”

“Yeah, I saw, kiddo,” says Race.

“That was really our last one this time, too,” Francesco adds.

“Good job,” Race replies. He hooks an arm around each of them. “Now. We’re not telling Davey about this part, right? He don’t like the lyin’.”

“Um, Davey specifically said I’m allowed to ‘embellish the truth’ on my headlines if I have ta ‘cause it’s part’a the job,” Leah reports.

Francesco tugs Race’s sleeve. “Embellish?”

“ _Make it sound better_ ,” Race replies. “I dunno if this qualifies as embellishin’ or just inventin’ shit, kiddo.”

Leah laughs. “I won’ tell’im.”

“Good girl,” Race says. “A’right, it’s about time I get’cha to Davey’n Jack. Cesco, I’m walkin’ you back to Brooklyn tonight, ‘kay? Just so’s Spot don’t get worried I’m stealin’ you forever.”

“ _And you want to see your stupid pretty Irish boy again?”_ Francesco teases. Race pushes his hat over his face.

 _“He’s not my anything,”_ Race says, but he knows his face is flushing.

“What?” Leah says, looking from Race to Cesco and back. “I don’t understand.”

Francesco gives Race a look, but he doesn’t spill the beans. “Just a joke. I don’t think it’ll translate, ‘ey, Antonio?”

“No, Cesco, I don’t think so,” says Race.

The three of them walk toward Davey’s school, just in time for classes to let out for the day. They meet him outside, and he lights up when he sees Leah.

“Hey, Lee,” he greets, grinning. “Nice hat; Jack give that to you?”

“Uh huh,” says Leah. She runs to him, wrapping little arms around his waist.

“How was your first day as a newsie?” Davey asks.

“Super good,” Leah answers. She points to Francesco. “I gotta new best friend.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” says David. He rests a hand on her shoulder. “We should head for home. You’ll see Racer and Frankie tomorrow, okay?”

Leah nods. “Bye Race, bye Cesco.”

Francesco waves, and Leah and Davey walk away.

Race puts his own arm around Francesco’s shoulders. “A’right, kid, let’s get to walkin’.”

They arrive at the Brooklyn newsboys’ house without much incident, after some more coaching of Francesco’s American accent.

“How’d it go?” Spot asks, because as soon as they arrive Race is whisked away for a private audience with the so-called king of Brooklyn. “Whatever it was you wanted to teach’im.”

“Good, real good,” says Race. “He’s talkin’ more, even talkin’ in English. Don’t believe anythin’ he says to you about me, though.”

“What, you spillin’ your secrets to some little kid?” says Spot, raising an eyebrow. “You’s usually smarter than that, Racer.”

“Ain’t exactly spillin’ secrets,” Race says. He shrugs. “Kid’s smart, though. An’ I’m not used’ta people understandin’ when I talk to myself.”

“Do that a lot?” Spot says, the barest hint of teasing in his tone.

“Only when I lose a day’s wages to short boys who think they’re funny,” says Race, feeling a little bold. “He heard me cursin’ your very existence. Sassed me right off the bat.”

“Kid’s got more’n more’a my respect by the minute,” says Spot.

“I’m gonna come back for’im, if that’s alright with you,” Race says. “Kid’s growin’ on me, and I think I got more to teach’im.”

“Fine by me, if he’s willin’ to put up with ya,” Spot answers.

“I am a _delight_.”

“You have your moments.”

That catches Race fully off guard. Sure, Spot likes him better than he likes a lot of people, but that is a _really low bar_. “I do?”

“On occasion,” says Spot, casual as anything. “What, you think I put up with you just for your pretty face?”

“S’why I put up with you,” Race says, but it comes out a little too sincere. He does like Spot’s face, after all, as Cesco has made it his mission to tease him about.

“An’ here’s me thinkin’ it’s my winning personality,” Spot says. He winks – _winks! –_ at Race before continuing, “I’ll see you around, Race.”

Recognizing the dismissal for what it is, Race turns to leave, fighting the flush that’s creeping onto his face to no success. “Later, Spotty.”

Francesco is waiting for Race by the door. “ _How was your chat?”_

 _“You are a menace,”_ Race replies.

“ _Your face is red, Antonio,”_ teases Francesco.

Race smacks him with his hat. “ _I hate you.”_

 _“No you don’t,”_ Francesco says, grinning.

“ _No, I don’t. Shut up,”_ says Race.

“ _I won’t tell Spot you like him,”_ says Francesco. “ _Don’t worry.”_

 _“That’s dangerous shit to say, little brother, even if nobody understands you, you hear me?”_ Race says, pulling Francesco close.

“ _I know._ You’re _protecting me, Antonio, I’ll protect you,”_ says Francesco. He gives Race a quick hug. “ _Go back to Manhattan. See you soon?”_

_“See you soon.”_


End file.
